


All of Mine, Beloved

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick is also a good parent/guardian, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Gen, Hugs, Mild Injury, Nicknames, Sick Fic, good dad bruce - Freeform, has elements of, origin of nicknames, the good stuff, this is just fluff, tickels, you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25057036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: A baby bat is also called a pup. So, of course, Bruce would call his children the same thing (they are, after all, all his babies).
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Comments: 16
Kudos: 360





	All of Mine, Beloved

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I plan to extend this fic to cover all the batkids eventually but I just had to start with my favs, so this chapter focuses on Dick and Damian. As chapters update, I'll update the tags : D 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this collection of soft stories.

i

A rustling noise from outside caused Bruce to glance up from the book on aviation he was reading. His eyes scanned the driveway that led up to the front of the house, searching for a car. There was nothing but the swaying of trees, their leaves caught by a sudden burst of wind. It felt like the seventh such sudden in five minutes. 

Bruce was sure it had been longer than that, but looking at the progress he’d made through his book one would think he’d only just sat down. Normally a fast reader, especially with content he was familiar with, Bruce would have been fifty pages further on a normal day, settled in his office with a cup of coffee or tea. Today, he was waiting, and that waiting kept dragging his attention up, off the pages, and outside. 

He forced his attention back down to the chapter on early engine development and made it a few more paragraphs before he realized he’d taken in almost none of the text. Bruce sighed, and plucked the thin sticky note from where he’d put it on the cover off, placing it instead by the last bit of text he’d really understood and folded the book closed. 

It was then that the actual sound of a car pricked at his ears, the hum of the engine and crunch of tires on the driveway declaring the arrival of those he’d been waiting on.

Bruce opened the book again, putting on the mask of one not at all distracted and waited, not even bothering to read anything. Excitement bubbled up within him, it was rare he was home early enough to greet Dick. If he were being honest, most of his earlier distraction was from imagining the boy’s face when he realized Bruce was home. 

The door opened and the quiet manor broke into noise as Alfred directed Dick to “take off those muddy shoes and not get dirt all over the place”. Bruce didn’t think it had rained recently, but rain was not the only source of mud, and Dick possessed the ability to get dirty no matter where he was. Alfred had once described it as an occupational hazard of being a child. 

“Afternoon!” Bruce called from his place on the couch as if he had not been waiting every second to see Dick. 

Dick’s joyful cry brought a smile to Bruce’s lips before he even heard the pitter patter of feet --and exasperated cry of “Master Dick your  _ shoes _ ”. There was a pause, then two thumps, and softer feet running again before a figure vaulted over the side of the couch to land with a bone rattling shake next to Bruce. 

Bruce found himself engulfed in a hug, Dick already chattering.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be home today? You could have picked me up instead of Alfred and we could’a got fast food. You know that KFC has started carrying doughnuts? Doughnuts, B! Just thinking about them makes my stomach growl. The cafeteria never has enough food to keep me full all day. You know Suzy said I should ask for--”

“Slow down, Chum.” Bruce said, humor in his voice, “If you’re that hungry, I know for a fact Alfred already prepared a snack.”

“Al’s snacks are boring. Carrot sticks and celery I bet.” he said, wrinkling his nose and squinting as if carrots and celery were the worst things in the world. 

Dick leaned back and kicked his legs out, his socked toes kicking up on the coffee table for a moment before he caught Bruce’s look and slipped them under, kicking up lightly to make the cup of water on it jiggle. 

“I bet there’s peanut butter to go with them.” Bruce suggested. 

“Boooring.” Dick declared, then he grinned at Bruce, pulling his legs back in a motion to hop up on the couch, now standing on his knees, “Hey, what if we drank blood, like vampire bats!” he made claws with his hands, “That’d make us really scary at night.” 

“We are scary enough, besides I much prefer regular old food, copper is not to my tastes.” 

Dick rolled his eyes but plopped down, sitting on his feet, “We talked about bats in class today. Didja know that when bats are babies they’re called pups?” 

Bruce did in fact know this, “Is that so?” he asked, “Then, maybe I should stop calling you chum and switch instead to pup, that’s what would make us like bats.” 

He lifted his own arms in an imitation of wings and then pounced, diving forward to rain down tickles on his son. Dick fell back in a fit of giggles and flailing limbs. Bruce had to dodge knobby knees and well aimed kicks but managed to tickle Dick until the child was a ball of gasps and giggles. 

The onslaught was put to a halt by Alfred officially announcing lunch. 

Bruce picked up his fallen book, tossed to the floor when he’d started the tickle attack, and then helped Dick up, “Come on, Pup. Let’s get some food in that hungry belly.” 

ii

Exhaustion was a feeling Dick wore so often lately it felt a bit like a coat buttoned up in the back that he couldn’t get off on his own. Back when he’d first gone off on his own he’d thought that leaving Bruce would give him some distance from days and nights so jam packed he didn’t have time to think, but somehow over the years Dick had become worse.

Wally liked to tease and call him a workaholic, and Dick knew it was true. He couldn’t turn off the switch in his brain that dragged him from work into his suit and out into Bludhaven or from that to helping with the Titans and anyone else who asked. All that energy he’d had as a child that went into leaping over couches and rattling his leg so wildly during class it got him odd looks was transferred into helping, leading, saving. 

After all that, all Dick wanted to do was lay down. Flop on a couch, bed, even the floor, and stay there for a month. Unfortunately, laying down was the last thing he was likely to do today. Sure, he had a bed at the Manor, but he wasn’t here for naps. He was here to work, on request from the Bat himself. 

“Master Dick, it is nice to see you.” Alfred greeted Dick, as he was busy tugging off his shoes. 

When they were off and his toes semi-free to curl into the plush carpet in the front hall Dick straightened and pulled Alfred into a tight hug, “Good to see you too, Al.” 

“Master Bruce is upstairs. When you go up, make sure his leg is still elevated and remove anything that even hints of work from his person. I’m sure he’s dug out an old case file by now.” 

Dick laughed and nodded, “I’ll give him the old ‘you should be resting’ speech, not that it’ll do any good.” 

With that he moved upstairs to find his bedridden father. Dick’s shoulders ached with exhaustion and he kept rolling one, hearing it pop pop pop but getting no relief. He was not looking forward to patrolling in a couple hours, especially when it was likely Bruce would be in his ear helicoptering patrol the whole night. 

It wasn’t that Dick didn’t want to spend time with the man, he just didn’t want him in his ear while he worked. Having Bruce on comms duty was exhausting, he was always stressed from whatever injury kept him from going out. Plus Bruce and Dick were both leaders, with their own ways of doing things and totally unwilling to let the other take charge. Alfred would try to keep B upstairs and in bed, but they both knew that was a losing battle. 

In a perfect world, Dick would be home just to check on his dad. They’d spend the day rehashing old memories and making new ones by pestering Alfred and pranking Tim when the kid returned from school. 

He knocked lightly on Bruce’s door frame and leaned inside the already open entry. Bruce glanced up from a stack of papers, glasses perched atop his nose. He blinked at Dick for a second, as if he wasn’t expecting him then he smiled. 

“Dick.” he said by way of greeting. 

Dick pointed at the loose papers, “You do realize that working is not resting right?” 

Bruce snorted.

Papers aside, Bruce’s bed looked comfortable, and Dick still had a couple hours before he had to get ready. He decided to use a favorite tactic on his dad and kill two birds with one stone. 

“Scoot.” he said, moving to the bed. 

It was big enough to easily fit the whole family if they were all home, but being close to Bruce was crucial to Dick’s plan. 

When he was younger, he’d jump up, catch on the top bar of the canopy and flip onto the bed. Today he flopped, far less graceful and flashy than he normally would be, but he didn’t care. The siren song of plush pillows, an impossibly comfortable mattress, and smooth perfect sheets pulled him into the bed without flourish or care, all Dick could think of was how itchy his eyes felt. 

He scooted over until he brushed papers still being cleared out of the way as Bruce realized he’d been serious of course he had, Bruce’s bed was  _ the best _ . Dick helped collect some, and shoved them into Bruce’s arms as he burrowed under the ridiculously fluffy comforter. 

He wiggled his toes and remembered he was still wearing his socks. Dick frowned at that and all but buried himself in the blankets to reach his socked feet, plucking one then both of them off. The temptation was great to ball and toss them to the floor but Dick Grayson had been raised in a house with Alfred and he dared not do such a thing here. Instead he folded one over the other, and reached forward, dropping them close to the foot of the bed. 

When Dick leaned back, sighing happily as his toes slid across the smooth cool sheets he heard Bruce huff. It wasn’t an upset noise, no this was amused, as the man was unable to escape the bed if he wanted to avoid Alfred’s wrath and the discomfort of walking on a torn ligament. 

Dick leaned over into Bruce’s side, and began the second part of his plan. A little known weakness of the Batman --one that would devastate him if his rogues knew-- was that if one of his kids snuggled close, Bruce would not move. Much like when a cat chose to nap on someone’s lap and they were rooted to the spot. Dick had done it successfully many times and had seen Jason be just as effective. He’d had to teach Tim about it, but once the boy got the hang of it, the newest Robin had as high a score for keeping Bruce down as Dick did. 

The best part was that it seemed Bruce was totally oblivious to the (good natured) manipulation. Either that, or he willfully accepted it. 

The arm Dick was squishing just a bit freed itself, first to ruffle Dick’s hair, then loop over his shoulder to tug him close. It was, to put it simply, perfect. 

“Your leg okay?” Dick asked, “I didn’t shake it when I was getting settled in did I?”

“It’s alright.” Bruce hummed, “Have you designated yourself my babysitter?”

Dick snorted, “Nope, this my nap spot. Unlike you, who’s had days to lounge about in bed, I’ve been working.”

Sitting there, with his back against the headboard, leaned close to his dad, Dick didn’t want to move for the next six to eight hours, let alone drag himself out of bed to patrol. He could feel his body sinking into the desire to sleep, and his shoulders finally losing their tension.

Bruce could tell, Bruce could always tell, how tired Dick was. His hand squeezed Dick’s shoulder and he leaned even closer to press a kiss to his hair, “It’s alright to take the night off.”

Dick shook his head, “I’m filling in for you, we can’t both take the night off.” 

“I seem to remember a ten year old telling me otherwise years ago.” He imitated a high childlike voice that might have been what Dick sounded like pre-voice breaking, “You can’t work all the time, B! The world will survive one night without Batman.” 

He laughed, “Foiled by ten year old me.” 

“Don’t worry, Pup. Ten year old you foiled my plans many times as well.” 

“I thought I heard you call Tim that the other day.” 

Bruce leaned closer and pressed a kiss to the top of Dick’s hair, “Doesn’t mean you’ve outgrown it.” 

Dick hummed, “So we’re all pups then?” 

“All my Robins are pups.” 

That warmed Dick inside. Knowing that after all the highs and lows between them he was still his kid, despite every time Dick had insisted he had grown. It was nice, to settle back into that feeling of being someone’s child. He wondered why he’d tried to shrug it off. 

It was cute, Bruce referring to them all as pups. And endearing, it showed a soft side of Bruce Dick was afraid might have been lost when Jason died. So much was lost then, and Bruce had changed so drastically, it was good to know at least one thing was a constant.

iii

Damian Wayne could be described as stubborn, rude, impulsive, and having one of the hardest heads in the family (which was saying something). But he also contained one of the kindest hearts Dick had ever seen. This was made evidence by the fact that instead of finding the kid training in the bunker like normal, Damian was sitting on the floor, dutifully attending to something cupped in his palms. 

As Dick crouched beside him, Damian glanced up for a moment, before his attention returned to the creature he held. Dick could see now that there was a tiny bat settled in just one of Damian’s hands. It was wrapped in a towel and happily lapping milk from a small plastic eye dropper Damian held pinched between his thumb and forefinger. 

“They are called pups.” Damian’s voice was quiet, as if he were trying not to startle the tiny bat, “I always thought it strange, since the word is already somewhat associated with dogs. Now I feel it fits. They are so small and fragile, such a sound makes sense.” 

Dick hummed, “Where was it?” 

Damian blushed, “I found it outside on a walk. I believe it was abandoned as construction started on a nearby building.” 

He didn’t have to explain why he’d brought it down to the bunker. The two of them had really only just moved from the manor and cave to their new location deep in the city. Dick was sure the image of a cave, still alive with bats, was as fresh in Damian’s mind as it was in his own. His brother probably hoped to take it back there and try to get it settled in with the others when it was old enough. 

“Has Alfred helped you pick a spot for it yet?” 

Damian shook his head.

“Then you and I will when it’s finished eating. Bruce used to let me help nurse some of the lost bats when I was a kid, and I always liked seeing them in the cave.” 

Over the next couple weeks Dick had to stop himself from calling Damian by the nickname, Pup. Watching him work with the tiny bat kept bringing the word to mind, and it felt right. All Robins had gone by it at one point or another, and it seemed sad that Damian might not have the chance. 

The thing that kept the word off his lips was not Damian’s derision when it came to nicknames, though that didn’t help. He hated most of them, allowing Dames only when he was extra tired or hurt and didn’t have the energy to put his walls up. What kept Dick from slipping up and using it was the fact that it was Bruce’s name for them. It was not the Robin mantle that Dick could pass down. Even if it was, there was a part of him that believed Tim was right, that Bruce was out there and if he returned, Dick didn’t want to be the one to have taken Pup from him. He’d already taken so much. 

The bat, still young, but much stronger now, had started to try flying. The day they found him fluttering around his enclosure and rejecting milk in favor of mealworms they agreed it was time to take him to the cave. 

Dick was too busy to drive them out to the manor during the day. The decision was made to drop off the creature at the start of patrol, then follow their old route from there. 

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he watched Damian move the bat’s small enclosure into the car, he was so careful, moving with slow, precise steps so as not to jostle the bat. He settled it on the floor of the passenger’s seat, just under the dash. 

When he caught Dick looking he huffed, “This way I can ensure it is safe.” 

Damian was just as careful with the bat as they drove. The container was a little big to keep in his lap, so he spent the drive leaned over, hands steadying it with every bump and turn. He kept up a steady stream of conversation with it, and talked longer than Dick had ever heard him before. 

When at last they reached the cave, Damian was out of the car quickly, already carrying the container past covered equipment and away from the main portion that had been used by people. Dick was quick to catch up, and followed Damian deeper into the caves to an unknown destination. Dick flicked on a flashlight to illuminate their path, and Damian nodded, grateful. 

They’d passed bats already. Many roosted above their heads as they’d driven in. And with no one regularly occupying the space, more and more had found homes around the equipment. But Damian didn’t seem interested in releasing his charge there. 

Damian seemed to have an end goal in mind, moving with confidence through passages Dick had rarely explored. When he did stop, Dick didn’t see any bats at first. He’d heard rustling and the sound of many flying, spooked by their approach, but Damian took this in stride. 

“This is where many raise their young.” Damian’s voice was quiet in the dark. 

He set the box down, and opened the door to it, before pointing out a number of openings in the walls, holes dotting the area like honeycomb. 

“It is not the only place they roost like this, but I believe our bat will be easily accepted here.” 

The creature in question had clambered out the door and was hanging off it. After another moment it fluttered, and took to the air if a little clumsily. After some practice, it’s flight evened out and soon it disappeared from view. The only evidence of it was the quickly fading chittering it had made and the enclosure, now empty. 

“How’d you know where to take it?” Dick asked as they returned to the car. 

“We were at the manor long enough that I was able to explore a number of Father’s maps of the cave system.” 

Dick tried to remember any times Damian might have had a chance to sneak off for some spelunking, but honestly those early days at the manor were a blur of grief and work. Dick had been so busy, trying to tie up Bruce’s life, figure out what he was going to do next. Tim had still been there, and Dick had done his best to help his other grieving brother. He’d been pulled in a billion different directions, meaning Damian would have had plenty of time to explore unnoticed. 

He felt a pang of guilt at that. It’s not like he hadn’t tried to be around for Damian, but life had a way of dragging him all over the place. Now that they’d moved, and settled into things Dick hoped he could make up for long, lonely, hours by being as present as possible. He knew he was doing better. Damian was changing, slowly but surely, and their relationship was growing stronger every day. 

They reached the car, and climbed back in, adjusting capes and suits, and double checking belts before patrol. 

When it seemed they both were confident of their supplies Dick said, “Ready to go, Baby Bat?” 

The nickname, so close to pup (and really it was the same), felt right. Damian raised an eyebrow at it, and did not immediately argue. 

“Why not pup?” there was the hint of a smirk on his face as he asked. 

“I doubt you’d want me calling you small and fragile.” Dick said.

“Tt. I am the son of the original Batman.” 

“And the current one is your guardian.” Dick said, putting the car in gear and pulling out of the cave.

The boy thought on this for a moment before nodding, “I would prefer son of the bat, but that is a bit of a mouthful. You should be aware it is a nickname that is easy to grow out of. I am not a child.” 

Dick grinned at this, “I keep forgetting my ten year old brother isn’t a child.” 

“In age, perhaps.” Damian allowed. 

“Baby Bat it is then.” Dick said, “It’s my turn to warn you, that while you think you’ll grow out of it, once you’re someone’s kid, you’re always someone’s kid.” 

iiii

Bruce knocked lightly on Damian’s door. He shifted the tray in his hands from both to just one, balancing it against his hip to turn the knob and swing the door open.

“Just me.” he said, returning his hand to the tray and stepping inside. 

Damian was in bed, bundled in a heap of blankets. So many that Bruce might think the house was out of them, but that was not possible either, they owned far too many blankets. It was an effect of having six children and one who stayed often enough she basically lived there. There was something about blankets and batkids, and if the press ever found out they’d have a field day with the whole idea. 

All of the blankets Damian was wrapped in were his own. They so encompassed him that all Bruce could see peeking out of them was the boy’s nose, red from sniffles, and a tuft of dark hair. Coughs, muffled by the wall of blankets, shook it for a moment. 

It was likely the whole pile would be thrown aside in as little as a few minutes, if a hot flash chased away Damian’s chills. He’d been doing that all day as chills came and went. Honestly Bruce was hoping things would settle down long enough to let him sleep a few solid hours. 

“I brought some soup. It’s mushroom vegetable ramen from Hanabi.” 

Bruce was hoping the favorite dish would help cheer Damian up, and he’d used ordering out as an opportunity to give Alfred a break from kitchen duties for the evening. Everyone had a favorite dish from Hanabi, so it had been an easy choice.

A groan issued from the pile of blankets and two hands popped out to pull them aside and reveal Damian’s pale face. 

“You’re going to have to move some of those.” Bruce told him, amused. 

His youngest huffed at him, and did not move to follow Bruce’s instruction. He looked exhausted, with dark rings under his eyes. His grip on the blankets looked so loose Alfred the cat could free them by hopping onto the bed. 

Bruce set the tray on a nearby table and moved to help peel layers of blankets back, “Come on, Sweetheart. You need to eat, the warmth will be good for your throat.” 

He let a smile quirk the corner of his mouth, and paused to boop Damian’s nose, “You know, you look a bit like the bats your siblings used to take in, all bundled against the world.” 

Damian sniffed, “Richard mentioned he had helped some when I found one.” 

The last of the bulky blankets came away and Bruce resettled this one across Damian’s lap. He brushed a hand across Damian’s forehead, checking his temperature and brushing back sweaty bangs. 

“I should have guessed, I’m surprised you didn’t keep it.” he said, warmly.

With that he stood and collected the tray, taking the chair planted by Damian’s bed. He’d pulled it up yesterday when the bulk of the illness had presented itself, and different people had occupied it since, all in an effort to keep Damian both in bed and occupied when awake. 

“It is in the cave, with the others.” Damian said, taking the tray to balance on his lap. His voice was hoarse and scratchy sounding from a sore throat and coughing. 

Bruce chuckled as he plucked his own bowl off the tray. He’d brought it, hoping to imitate the feeling of sitting down to eat as a family, even if it were just the two of them. 

They ate in relative silence. Damian picked at his ramen and mostly scooped up the broth, while Bruce finished all of his. He paced himself, knowing Damian would push his away when Bruce was done. He was right, the moment he set his bowl aside Damian was dropping his spoon into his own. 

The bowl was still mostly full.

“A couple more bites?” Bruce suggested when the tray was pushed away. 

Damian glared at the bowl, but tugged it close again and sipped for another minute at more broth. He even had some noodles. This time when he pushed it away, Bruce allowed it, and collected the tray, returning it to the side table. 

By the time he was done, Damian had burrowed back under the blankets again. He hadn’t pulled as many over him this time. He was curled on his side, blinking over at Bruce. 

“You sleepy?” 

Damian shook his head, his dark hair mussing and falling into his face with the movement. 

Bruce brushed at it again, “You’re feeling pretty terrible, huh?” 

“It is, as Richard says, the worst.” he said, voice a little less scratchy than earlier. It seemed the broth had done some good. 

“I’m sorry, Pup.” Bruce murmured.

Damian wrinkled his nose, “As much as I look like a bat, I am not one.” 

“But you are my baby, and thus my Pup.” Bruce countered. 

His boy didn’t argue further, instead he tugged the blanket closer to his chin, “Read to me?” 

There was a book placed down on open pages at the end of Damian’s bed. Bruce lifted it and looked at the cover,  _ The Lightning Thief _ . Bruce had heard the name tossed around the house quite a few times over the past few weeks, and seen books with similar covers trade hands. 

“Want me to start from where you stopped?” 

Damian nodded, “Top of the left page.” he directed, “I read it, but my head hurt too much to focus.” 

Bruce frowned at him, “How is your head now? Do you need some medicine?”

“Pennyworth brought some in earlier.” 

“Well, let me know if you need anything else.” Bruce told him, then settled back in the chair, “Want to give me a summary of what’s happened so far in here?” he pointed to the cover. 

“You have not read it?” Damian asked, surprised. 

He shook his head. 

“Do not tell Drake, he will be devastated.” Damian broke off to cough into a hand, “There is too much context, I suggest you start from the top.” 

Bruce had been hoping to keep Damian entertained, but maybe reading parts Damian was familiar with would help lull him to sleep, “You won’t be bored?” 

Damian waved a dismissal, “My attention has been spotty, it would be good to start over.” 

It was all the permission Bruce needed. He tucked a bookmark into the place Damian had stopped --in case he wished to return there later-- and turned the pages back to chapter one.

Bruce read, keeping his voice low, while still making an attempt at doing various voices --all his children seemed to like when he gave characters voices-- and read for a while. Every so often he glanced up to wide awake eyes, until at last he was seeing more lid than green. Soft snores finally halted his progress. 

He had to hunt for a second bookmark and settled on using the flap from the dust cover to mark his place. Then he tugged the blankets a bit closer to Damian, and leaned down to press a kiss to his head.

“Sleep well, Pup.” he said. 


End file.
